Flight Envy
by Samurai101
Summary: Draco Malfoy has just learned what it's like to be shown up by his worst enemy while doing what he loves best.::no slash::


**A/N:Draco on his obession and how Harry Potter almost made him hate it. Enjoy and review!

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When Madame Hooch told Draco Malfoy he had been holding the broom wrong for years he was not all that surprised. He tried to switch to the 'proper' grip, but it felt wrong and made him fly worse. He gave up on it quickly, and just held the broom as he always had. If it worked for him it could not be that wrong, right?

The reason he used the wrong grip was because he was self taught. From the early age of two Draco Malfoy had been smitten by flying. At age three he begged a toy broom from his parents for his birthday, and set to work learning how to fly. However, there was a problem. Draco Malfoy was a terrible flyer.

He was not scared of flying, and he loved it when he actually got into the air and stayed on the broom for more than five minutes. He simply was terrible at it. Some people were naturally talented at some things, and some people were naturally horrid at others. Draco was naturally horrid at flying, but he loved to fly.

Draco's father could not understand why Draco insisted on trying to fly well. He saw his son had no talent for flying, and he knew his son saw that too. If Draco was ever going to be marginally good at flying he would have to work twice as hard at it as anyone else. That was not smart, and there were many other things that Draco could do much better than flying without half as much work.

Draco did not care. He wanted to fly, and he wanted to be _good _at flying. He did not care how many times he fell off, or how hard he would have to work to be any good at flying. He did not care that he ripped and ruined so many clothes learning to fly that his mother insisted he wear old Muggle clothes instead of robes. He did not care he had broken his arms at least three time falling off brooms, and run into more trees, buildings, and statues than a blind bird.

After eight years of almost religous practice Draco was what could be called a good flyer. He was not phenomenal, but he could fly. He was more excited about the flying lessons than he let on, and a lot more nervous. He was afraid over the weeks he had been away from home and unable to practice he had lost what little compitence he had managed to gain.

He was not bothered by the fact his grip was wrong, or the fact that the right grip made his flying worse. He was, however, bothered by Harry Potter. The boy had never been on a broom before, and he flew as well as Draco--better! He flew with an ease that was sickening, and Draco felt nothing but pure, unadulterated hatred for Harry Potter when he saw the boy fly. It was a hate so pure it scared him.

It was not fair. Draco had worked almost all his life to be good at flying, and this Muggle raised boy who had not even thought about flying before could out-fly Draco. Harry had not spent hours falling from his broom and hitting the ground hard enough to stun only to get back up and try again. Harry had not begged his mother not to break his old broom after he had broken his leg for the second time. Harry had not been consumed with the desire to fly easily and well since he was two, and had not worked constantly to make that desire reality.

Harry simply did not have to. He simply was good, maybe the best. He had been born that way and nothing could change that. He had been handed the gift Draco had been forced to build for himself over years with blood, sweat, and pain. Harry was a natural, and Draco was not. It was that simple, and there was no way to change it.

Harry almost ruined flying for Draco. In the moment Draco had realized how good a flyer Harry was, and the ecstacy of flight was washed away with first shock and then hate, he was sickened. When Draco landed he had almost sworn he would never fly again, but he could not do that. Even if he spent every flight being showed up by Harry Potter in front of all of Hogwarts he could not give up flying. Flying was what made him feel free. Flying was the best thing he had, and he would not let Harry James Potter, the boy wonder, take that from him.

His first summer back from Hogwarts Draco flew every day. He declined to go on any vacations, and simply flew. He flew when it rained, or when it stormed. He did not let anything keep him from flying. He flew with broken fingers, toes, a leg, and more bruises than he had ever sported since he was five. He was determined to get better. He had to get better because only thing more frightening and disgusting than hating Harry Potter with all his being was envying him.


End file.
